Chapter 3 #3
While working in the city of Sheffield was never a problem for her, any university-adjacent event made her jittery, and she’d avoided them up to now.
She knew this reaction was thoroughly nonsensical, but Jude had spent three years studying there after leaving Cambridge, and – though he was half a world away now – the institution still had powerful associations for her.
‘Had you forgotten?’ Charlie asked, grinning – so pleased to have the superior handle on their shared events calendar that she’d failed to notice Hannah’s silent turmoil.
‘Kind of,’ Hannah confessed. ‘I did all the prep work ages ago and I’ve been in wedding mode for weeks now. Plus, I’m not handling the speaker side of things, just the hospitality and practical bits – equipment hire, programmes and stuff.’
‘Gotcha,’ Charlie said, then pointed towards the cafe’s counter. ‘One for the road? I reckon I’ve got another half hour in me before the well of inspiration runs dry.’
‘Go on then,’ Hannah said. ‘Can I have a decaf Americano, please?’
She refocused on her laptop as Charlie walked away.
Deciding she’d made enough progress with the new price list, she clicked out of the Word document and opened her email inbox.
There, she found three new enquiries – two for dates next year that she’d already booked out, and one for . . . three months from now?
Frowning, Hannah scanned her calendar, fully expecting 20 September to be blocked for the early-autumn nuptials of Holly and Rufus – only to discover that their big day was 27 September and she was, in fact, available.
She scanned the rest of the information in the email, which pulled its content directly from her website’s enquiry form.
This asked a range of questions pertaining to the kind of day a couple was envisaging – from when and where they’d like it to take place, to how many guests they thought they’d invite and how much, roughly, they expected to spend.
Hannah made clear on the form that opting for a smaller sum was no bar to working with her – it merely helped to ensure any follow-up conversation could be focused and useful.
When she reached the budget section of this email, however, she gasped aloud.
‘What’s up?’ Charlie said, back with two steaming mugs in hand.
‘I’ve just had a wedding enquiry come through, dated . . . today,’ Hannah said, after checking. ‘It’s for the twentieth of September—’
‘This year?’ Charlie interrupted, and at Hannah’s nod, she added: ‘Bloody hell, cutting it fine, aren’t they?’
‘Very,’ Hannah agreed. ‘But that’s not even the oddest bit. The email address is weird: AN_other@, and they’ve not filled in any names. Even madder, the “realistic budget” they’ve set for the day is a hundred and fifty grand.’
Charlie almost choked on her hazelnut mocha. ‘What? One hundred and fifty thousand pounds?’
Hannah turned her laptop around so Charlie could see.
‘It’s got to be a spoof, hasn’t it? Spam,’ Hannah said, the fizz of excitement in her belly dissipating as the likeliest explanation for the enquiry dawned on her.
‘I suppose it could be,’ Charlie said, ‘but that email address looks considered to me – as if someone’s set it up with a purpose. It doesn’t look random, like it might if it were generated by a bot. It’s more like a . . . a . . . what’s it called? A sock puppet type thing.’
‘You’re a font of internet wisdom today, aren’t you?’ Hannah said wryly. ‘Unfortunately, I still have no idea what you mean.’
‘What I mean,’ Charlie said, her eyes suddenly shining, ‘is that maybe someone wanted to ask you about this date without revealing their identity. And perhaps that someone is a well-known someone – which would also explain the cray-cray budget.’
‘You mean, like . . . a famous person? A celebrity?’
‘Exactly,’ Charlie said.
Hope took flight in Hannah’s chest, then abruptly floundered. ‘Shit. You don’t think it’s Marc playing games, do you?’
‘No!’ Charlie cried. ‘Why would you think that? Negative Nancy.’
‘Does the phrase “walking red flag” not ring a bell?’
Charlie tipped her head on one side, considering. ‘I still say no. Marc’s the type of red flag that likes to . . . I dunno – wave about where people can see him.’
Hannah snorted a laugh, but Charlie went on. ‘I’d say this morning’s TikTok antics make it less likely he’d send you a fake enquiry, not more. He wants you, and other people, to see him as some wounded romantic hero. He’d not hide behind a pseudonym to wind you up, I don’t think.’
‘You think it could be real, then?’ A pleasant hum of anticipation began to bubble in Hannah’s stomach at the thought of planning a wedding for someone well-known, with the sort of budget that would let her indulge every creative impulse she could imagine.
Admittedly, doing it in three months would be hugely challenging – but she found herself galvanised by this thought, rather than discouraged.
A celebrity wedding could offer priceless exposure for Eventurous, assuming the nuptials weren’t kept private.
And even if they were, the networking opportunities and professional satisfaction this might bring Hannah would be immense. Her mind began to whir with ideas.
Charlie was beaming at her. ‘Only one way to find out,’ she said.